Contemporary
Inheriting Love
By Lucy
Sep 8, 2007, 14:34

The Polish man’s footsteps squeaked across the vinyl hall floor. He loped into the master bedroom and dropped a folded flyer and two letters on Ryan’s lap. “What you want for breakfast? Cereal or pie?”

“Pie and coffee. Do ya like fishing?”

“Sure.” Derrick squeaked off toward the kitchen.

Using his teeth, Ryan pried the staple on the flyer open then spit it onto the gold sculptured carpet. The community association listed activities for March. He breezed through it. The book club would discuss Smolder. The garden club scheduled an expert on rockscaping. The Easter bunny was throwing a Victorian tea and egg hunt. The Saturday night retro movie would be Saturday Night Fever, Rated R. Adults only. Popcorn and soft drinks included. RSVP to reserve a space.

That Nance lady that runs things didn’t start work until noon, he’d have to remember to call.

Ryan opened a letter from his health insurance company and tossed the envelope onto the rug.

Jeeze, will it never end? Surely I’ve met my catastrophic deductible by now, and they shouldn’t be messing around nickel and diming me anymore.

Date of Service, February 27. Provider of Service, Queens Radiology Associates, Patient’s name, Cara. Service Obstetrical Ultrasound.

Ryan read it over again. Finally a lead on his ex-wife. The divorce was final last week. She’s pregnant! Damn it, she knows I don’t want no kids. How dare her. Sinking his head back into the pillow, Ryan remembered that night in June. The Ecstasy that his pal Terrell hooked him up with. The video camera.

Derrick carried a white wooden bed tray into the room. He placed it over Ryan’s lap.

 “Take your pills first. Wash them down with the juice.”

“What fruit makes red juice?” Ryan screwed his face up as he popped three different medications in his mouth and washed it down.

“Drink it all.”

He downed the tart liquid and put the jelly glass down.

“Cranberry-raspberry. Good?”

“No.”

“The physical therapist will be here at nine. Hurry up and eat and get in the shower.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do. Maybe I don’t wanna take no shower.” Ryan picked up his apple crumb pie and gobbled it with his hands.

“She’s kind of pretty. Don’t you wanna sCaral good for her? You won’t be a cripple forever you know.”

Ryan swallowed and gulped his weak coffee. Derrick never made it strong enough.

Mary, the physical therapist, was a cute little Filipino babe. He’d of course imagined her helping to make him forget all about his fractured pelvis.

Ryan licked his fingers and picked up the explanation of benefits. Queens Radiology Associates. Queens, New York. Anne. Cara was hiding out at her cousin Anne’s house.

Ryan moved the tray aside and said, “Don’t just stand there, get the walker over here.”

                             ***
Brooklyn, New York

Cara sucked the last of her milk out of the carton and dumped her dinner trash in the orange receptacle. She placed the hard plastic tray on top of the others. Her cousin, Anne, and her fiancé Brad were nuzzling near the door, waiting. Cara inhaled and rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to have to listen to them again tonight. It was hard enough sleeping with a pillow between her legs and a baby doing somersaults inside of her.

Brad held the door as she and Anne left McDonald’s. As he let the door go, he said, “Hey, Cifaretto, what’s up?” to a gentleman in a dark suit with a skinny tie. His black hair kissed the tops of his shoulders and the beard seemed only a couple weeks old.

“Hi Martin, good to see ya.”

“When’d you get back?”

“’bout a month ago. I got a medical discharge from the Army National Guard.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The truck I was riding in turned over in a mortar attack. Screwed my back. Literally. Got a rod and screws in it.”

“Aw, man, I’m really sorry. How bad does it hurt?”

“I know it’s there.”

“So are you going on light duty in the fire department then?”

“Nah, I’m up for disability pension. Just waiting on the paperwork to go through. How you been, man?” He sized up Anne, and glanced at Cara.

“Paul, I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Anne Lohan.”

Anne offered her hand. He held it and kissed her cheek. Stuart Lohan’s widow. Sure. Well, good for you guys. I hope you have a long and fruitful marriage.”

Brad said, “And this is her cousin, Cara Simonton.”

Paul kissed her cheek and said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Simonton.”

“Ms. Simonton. I’m divorced.”

Anne and Derrick were snuggling together, letting a gaggle of chatty Irish women tourists passed by.

“So, you live around here?” Paul shouted over the noisey traffic.

“I’m just visiting my cousin now. Not really sure where I’ll be settling. I’ll figure that out once I get a job.”

‘What line of work are you in?”

“Nothing. Anything, anything at all. I worked at a day care center, and a seashell shop.”

“A seashell shop in New York?”

“No, Florida. I’ve got a bit of a wanderlust.”

“Well, the bookstore down the block has a ‘now hiring’ sign in the window. In case you’re interested.”

“Which way?”

“Come on, I’ll escort you. That is if you don’t have plans…”

Cara glanced at Anne and Brad. He was nuzzling her neck and whispering as she softly moaned. The last thing she wanted was to go home with them and have to listen to the headboard banging the wall.

“Sure, I’d love to take a look at the bookstore. I’m a big reader, just haven’t gotten to the library in ages.”

                             ***

What’s that dancing in the porch light? As Cara climbed the three steps to her cousin’s house, she shook her head. Mosquitoes. In February. She fumbled her key into the lock. The door pulled open, taking her arm with it.

Steve Davidivich said, “Hello, Princess.”

Just great. Just what I need, him again. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped inside as he shut the door behind her. Cara unzipped her fawny-brown parka and hung it on a hook under the foyer mirror, next to Brad’s brown leather bomber jacket, and apparently Steve’s tailored black leather suit coat.

“How are you? And the baby?” Steve smiled as he persuaded her into the living room. A fire was softly burning in the fireplace.

Cara headed for one of the old green wing chairs, but he steered her toward the middle of the cream chenille sofa.
She sat. So did he.

“Well, aren’t you gonna ask me?”

No, I’m not going to ask you.

“Come on, Princess. I’ve come a long way to see you. I have so much to tell you.”

“So tell me.”

“First ask me.”

The long walk home from the bus top had tired her out. She didn’t want to kiss him. That train had left the freight yard eight years ago, with him as engineer. His choice. He’d broken her heart.

“Steve, I don’t want to kiss you. I’m tired and I just want to take a nice hot shower and go to bed.”

“You’re entitled to mood swings in your condition.”

In my condition. “Why did you come here again?”

“To fly you back to Anaheim.”

“Fly me back to Anaheim? What are you talking about? I’m not going to Anaheim.”

“Your wing is all ready. I’ve had it freshly painted for you and your baby. My baby girl gets released from the hospital on Friday.” Steve paced the living room as he spoke. He tossed another log on the fire. Sparks popped.
He’s got to be kidding me. He dumped me seven years ago for beautiful actress Nicole, who told him she was knocked up. Then when he finds out the kid wasn’t his, and she dies in childbirth, four kids later, he sends a PI to hunt me down, and expects to pick up where he’d left me. No sirree Mr. Davidivich.

“Steve, I’m really happy your children are well. But I am not moving in with you!”

“It’s all right, Princess. I talked to my parent’s about it, they understand and won’t judge. As soon as your divorce is final, we’ll have a big church wedding, and I’ll adopt your baby. It’ll be close enough in age to my little girl that they’ll be raised as twins. That’ll be so much fun.”

“Stop it. Stop it now.”

He put the fireplace poker down and turned to her. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

“Princess doesn’t exist anymore. I’m Cara Simonton. I’m not the stupid little star struck seventeen year old that used to hang around outside the studio, waiting for you. Eight years have passed. I’ve grown and hardened and smartened up and changed. You don’t even know me. How dare you plan my life?”

“And you think I haven’t taken my share of gut punches? My career, my marriage was a sham, my wife is dead, my baby girl is in the neonatal intensive care unit…”

Cara threw her head back, sinking it into the sofa. Poor Steve. He’s really had a time. But that didn’t mean he should expect her to forget about all she’d experienced and just drop everything and live happily ever after in his world.

The tears flowed. Cara rolled to the left, stretched, and yanked a tissue from the box on the end table. It was easier just to blow her nose in that position, she didn’t bother trying to upright herself.

Steve jabbed at the fire, sending sparks flying up the chimney.

“You really shouldn’t do that. You might start a chimney fire.” she choked out.

“There’s a fireman in the house.”

So Brad was still there. Cara hadn’t seen Anne since she arrived home. They were no doubt up in the boudoir of love.

Gagging on mucous, Cara pushed herself upright with her hands against the soft fabric. Steve continued stabbing at the fire.

“I’m very sorry Nicole trapped you into marriage. But it’s your own fault for having sex with her.” Cara cleared her throat. “I’m very sorry your wife died in childbirth, after the fall. You have to be devastated. But the new baby should bring you some comfort. Focus on your children and leave me out of the equation. I have enough to deal with. I need to find a real job paying decent wages, a babysitter, and an apartment.

Steve dropped the poker. It clanked against the red brick hearth. He knelt on the hardwood floor and took Cara’s face in his hands. Brushing hair out of her mouth, he kissed her. She didn’t kiss back.

“Oh, Princess. Don’t you see? All that I’ve been through, all that we’ve been through, it has led us back to each other. It’s our time now. We will rise like the phoenix…”

Not the stupid phoenix myth. “Steve, you don’t even know me. I’m not the big eyed little girl who used to worship you. You don’t know the adult me. You don’t know anything about me or my life. I’m married you know. Well, not for long anymore, but I did get married. You don’t even know what my occupation is. What religion am I? What are my favorite foods? Who are my friends? What’s my favorite TV show?”

“None of that matters, Princess.” He wiped her hair back again and smiled as he sat down on the coffee table.
“I apologize, from the rock bottom of my heart for not fighting harder for you, Princess. I really had made up my mind, after I saw your reaction to my goodbye. I came after you that night, you know. But fate screwed it up. Screwed us up. “You can’t blame me for marrying the woman carrying my child.”

“Rub it in Steve. It should have been me. I begged you to make love to me and you refused.”

“You were 17 years old. I was not going to ruin you.”

“Ruin me?” Cara let him have it. “So I was too virginal and untouchable then, except for all of our kissing and groping. But now I’m sluttish enough to move in and be your sex slave?”

“What? No! You’re still my Princess. And I’ll treat you right. The way you should be treated. I’ve got a lovely suite fixed up for you and your baby. And my kids will adore you. When I’m away on location it will be comforting to know they are in your care. “

“Oh, so I’m your babysitter now? I should have figured that out. Why don’t you ever want to make love to me? Get out!” Cara stood, knocking him backwards off the coffee table. She stomped into the foyer and ripped his coat from the hook, setting the mirror askew. “Get out. Walk right back out of my life now and don’t ever even think about contacting me again, okay?”

Brad came bounding down the stairs, two at a time. He was wearing black silk boxers. With pink lipstick smears. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Get him the hell away from me. Now.”

Brad opened the door and Steve walked out. Brad stepped onto the porch.

Cara caught her breath and stepped into the powder room, splashing water on her face and wiping it dry. When she returned to the foyer, Brad was locking the front door. “He got into his rental Lexus and drove out of site. What’d he do to you? Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

Anne came down the stairs, pulling an aquamarine silk robe closed. “What’s up?”

Cara admonished, “Don’t let him in here anymore. I don’t want to see him again. No phone calls, nothing, okay?”

“Steve? But he is the sweetest man. And he just lost his wife, you should give him some compassion, Cara. He’s your first love. He adores you. It’s a storybook romance with a happily ever after. After all these years.”

“You sound like him! Stop it Anne, I thought you of all people would understand.”

Brad brushed up against Anne and muttered, “Hormones.”

”Hormones? Just because I’m pregnant. Stop it Brad. You have no idea what I’ve been though.”

“He didn’t try to start something with you, did he?” Anne asked, concern in her voice.

Brad smiled. “I’ve always wanted to be with a pregnant lady.”

“Stop it. You two just don’t understand. It’s not about sex, it never was with him. But yes it was in his own selfish way. And my stupid expectations. The expectations of a stupid little star struck love sick fool. I’m not that little girl anymore. I’ve grown. I’ve changed and made the best out of everything life has pissed at me. You don’t know me. You don’t know the woman I am. Nobody does. And nobody wants to.”

Anne tried to put her arms around her cousin.

Cara moved away. “Don’t patronize me. Thank you for your hospitality, taking me in. I will be gone in the morning.”

Anne said, “Cara, go on up and get a good night’s sleep. You’ll feel better. We’ll talk tomorrow. When you’re calm. No more of this nonsense about you leaving. Unless…unless you are going to reconcile with Ryan?”

Cara said, “Goodnight.” and pulled herself up the stairs, gripping the oak banister tight.

Brad called out, “Sweet dreams. I’ve got to work in the morning, I won’t see you, so you take care of yourself.”

Anne called out, “Night-night.” and cuddled up to Brad.